


Operation Jackassquisition

by SaltCore



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Crack Treated Seriously, Humor, Justice Siblings, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:27:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25092361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaltCore/pseuds/SaltCore
Summary: Fareeha and Genji are trying to find Jesse and convince him to join Overwatch. It goes... okay.
Relationships: Fareeha "Pharah" Amari & Jesse McCree, Jesse McCree/Hanzo Shimada
Comments: 22
Kudos: 271





	Operation Jackassquisition

“So, _maybe_ this isn’t going well.”

Fareeha glares over the rim of her sunglasses. Genji has a lot of reflective surfaces to be staring at in full sunlight, but she manages. She’d spent years perfecting her _no shit_ stare, and she wants him to feel the full effect.

Of course it hasn’t been going well, but he doesn’t have to point it out.

His shoulders drop and he slides down in his chair. The hot breeze fluffs up the fading green of his hair, exposing the black roots. They’ve been on the road long enough that her thumb width in his natural color has grown in. In the few short months Fareeha had spent with Genji in Gibraltar, he’d gone through six colors, each one more eye searing than the last, but there’s been no time to deal with his roots on the road.

She didn’t remember him doing that _before_ , changing his hair, but then she hadn’t paid her brother’s friend much attention after she’d matriculated. He’s less _constantly seething_ , that much she’s sure of, but her knowledge of Shimada Genji’s normal reached its limits quickly in Gibraltar. What he is, though, is on this wild jackass chase with her, and that’s enough for her to like him. She needed any help she could get, after all, because Jesse McCree is a pain in the ass to find when he puts his mind to it.

And holy shit has he put his mind to it.

Fareeha bumps her sunglasses back up her nose with a knuckle and takes another sip of her paloma. The condensation from the glass coats her fingers with water that simply can’t evaporate, and she has to wipe them on her pants. She idly looks through the crowd surrounding them—mostly tourists from further north—just in case her brother materializes among the drunks.

He doesn’t, and she indulges a small peeved feeling at his continued absence.

It’s been five years since she’s seen him. Probably four since she’s heard from him. She’s seen his name more recently, here and there, never in a flattering light. That still strikes her as unfair. He is what he is, but he’s not half as bad as people say.

Fareeha’s phone buzzes in her pocket. Her lips quirk up on instinct—it’s probably Angela. She’s been especially interested in the progress of what has been affectionately dubbed Operation Jackassquisition, though mostly by a perverse interest in whether or not Jesse has scurvy.

He doesn’t. Probably. Hopefully.

Fareeha thumbs the biometric reader and the screen unlocks, showing a single unread message. Across the table, Genji is fishing out his own phone from his utterly unnecessary, heat-stroke-courting hoodie, but Fareeha ignores him.

The message isn’t from Angela. It isn’t from _anybody_ so far as the phone is concerned. Years of breathtakingly dull infosec slide decks come crashing back into Fareeha’s mind, but curiosity moves her thumb to open the message before she can second guess herself.

It’s a picture.

Of _Jesse_.

Fareeha immediately zooms in, the only thing keeping her hands from trembling being her death grip on the hunk of glass and metal. She searches the pixels for signs of duress or injury. This could be a prelude to a ransom, or a threat, or—or—

It takes a second for the more analytical parts of her to pipe up with the realization that he’s very clearly just sleeping (on a frankly _hideous_ couch, but that’s not itself indicative of danger). Like a big damn baby, actually. No gruesome injuries. Not even much more worse for wear than she remembers.

She looks up at Genji, ready to show him, but he’s already holding up his own phone. He got the same picture.

“You too?”

She nods.

“So,” he starts, pulling back his phone. “This is weird.”

“It’s too easy, that’s what it is.”

“But it _is_ a lead.”

“It’s not a great lead.”

“We haven’t exactly turned up a lot of leads, quality be damned.”

Genji looks at the picture again, face screwed up in concentration. After a moment, he says, with profundity,

“Where’s his hat?”

Fareeha stares at him. The location of Jesse’s _hat_ is not the issue here. She shakes her head. _Focus_ she tells herself.

“What we need to know is, who knows we’re looking for him? And how do they know where he is?”

“Don’t forget, they might want something in return for telling us.”

Genji has a point. A very salient point. Fareeha rubs her temples. _Fucking Jesse, what a pain in the ass._

Both their phones buzz again.

 _ >>PLEASE take him ill pay you. crypto? $? _ € _? gold bars? hookers and blow?_

_ >>Not joking _

_ >>he SNORES _

They share a look of pure bewilderment. Genji mouths _what the fuck_. Fareeha can only shake her head.

Hostage negotiation is far from her area of expertise. Not even the same continent, being frank. Genji, if memory and instinct serve, is no better. Then again, is it really a hostage negotiation if someone is actively trying to get rid of the hostage? Fareeha takes a deep breath and taps back a reply.

_ <<Where is he? And prove he’s alive. _

A moment later, another message arrives, only to her. It’s a video—Jesse, laying on the same awful couch, a tablet displaying headlines Fareeha read this morning on his chest. His snoring is frankly _deafening_.

“Christ on a bike, I think he has sleep apnea,” Fareeha mutters.

“Quick, tell Angela, it might be a symptom of scurvy.”

_ >>Swear youll get him tf OUT of here and ill tell you where _

_ <<Deal. _

An address appears on Fareeha’s screen. It’s local, only a few minutes by car. She drains her drink and jumps to her feet.

* * *

The apartment complex isn’t _not_ nice. The buildings are all pre-Crisis, amazingly, but clean and well maintained, ringing a courtyard. Some windows even have flowerboxes, with bright if slightly parched looking plants bouncing on the breeze. They had to be buzzed in past the front gate, but the security was mostly for show in Fareeha’s opinion.

She glances back at her phone to make sure of the apartment number. They’ve been standing here for a few minutes, knocks gone unanswered. Whoever had contacted them is apparently not bothered about keeping them waiting. Fareeha shifts her weight from heel to toe, abruptly anxious.

Unless this is a trap, she’s about to see her brother for the first time in years. She’d given up hope on that, if she’s being honest. When Jesse went to ground, he did it with thoroughness. She’s not the only one he’d cut off.

A part of her is sure that it will be easy to pick up where they left off. That it will be easy to convince Jesse to come back with them. Another part—

Well. People change. Jesse was already changing, at the end. Sure, he was on the run, but he could have made contact. Could have left her the occasional hint he was okay. He chose not to do that, and Fareeha hasn’t been able to forget it.

The door opens, interrupting Fareeha’s thoughts and revealing a woman—a local, sporting the kind of voluntary cybernetics that are in vogue for a particular kind of person and dressed in lounge wear suitable for the weather. Pretty, but with a sharpness that sets Fareeha on edge. She eyes the two of them from the other side of the threshold, obviously measuring them up.

“Took you long enough,” the woman says. She turns from the door, leaving it open for them to follow.

Her apartment is cluttered with electronic detritus, claustrophobically so. A shocking amount of it appears to be in use, though to what end Fareeha has no idea. That doesn’t matter though, because right in the middle of the living room is that ugly couch, holding up Jesse McCree.

“Hey, pendejo! Cops are here!” The woman shouts, kicking the corner of the couch hard enough to move it a little ways across the floor.

Jesse wakes with a start, flailing gracelessly. The woman snorts, then belly laughs. Jesse mutters something nasty under his breath and the woman laughs louder, curling over her knees. Jesse throws a pillow that hits her shoulder, but she doesn’t stop.

All of that means it takes a second for Jesse to notice they’re there.

“Hey, Jess,” Fareeha blurts, louder than she needed to be.

Jesse’s consternation morphs into shock. Fareeha meets his wide-eyed stare. The same brown eyes, the same too long hair. Her big brother, by choice if not blood, in the flesh.

“’Reeha! Genj’!”

Fareeha is genuinely surprised by his excitement. He acts like he hadn’t been the one to fall off the face of the earth. She finds herself pulled into a tight hug. Up close he smells like old beer and a well-used locker. It’s painfully familiar. She wrinkles her nose and slaps him twice on the back. He goes to hug Genji too, but Genji cannot resist commenting.

“Ugh, you reek, does mercenary work not pay for soap?”

“Don’t go bustin’ my balls when you woke me up!” Jesse laughs.

“Mercenary works pays just fine, but that’s not what you’ve been doing here, is it, vaquero?”

“Lying low?” Fareeha asks, eyes narrowed.

“Freeloading,” the woman says, as she turns to leave the living room. “A deal’s a deal, now get him out of my hair!”

Jesse laughs, clearly abashed.

“I meant to move on a while ago, but I caught some heat on the identity I used to get down here, then one thin’ led to another, and you get to know some folks, and well—”

“Oh. My. _God_ .” Fareeha pinches the bridge of her nose. “ _She_ told us where you were!” she hisses quietly, hooking a thumb towards the doorway the woman left through. “What if she’d told someone else while you were—” She waves in a vague gesture she hopes encompasses all the possible activities that could have kept Jesse here.

“Psssh, Liv’s harmless.”

Fareeha glances around the apartment again. Remembers the way she’d gotten in contact. Maybe she doesn’t mean Jesse harm, but she’s definitely not _harmless_.

“Getting to know some folks, huh?” Genji says, eyes narrowed with a somewhat vulpine smirk.

“Well, a folk.”

Genji cackles. Fareeha throws her hands up.

“Look, if you caught an eyeful of Yuuto—”

“Not his name.” Jesse’s unwilling landlady shouts from the other room.

“Oh, it is _definitely_ not his name,” Jesse agrees with a toothy grin.

“Nope, don’t care!” Fareeha snaps before Jesse can elaborate on what exactly makes this Yuuto so great. “Look, Jesse, we didn’t come here to get the details of your sex life.”

“Yeah, didn’t figure. Don’t guess y’all are after a chat and drink neither, ‘specially if you came together.”

“I’m afraid not _just_ that, old friend,” Genji says.

Jesse’s whole manner changes then. He straightens, posture tightening. Fareeha feels a reflexive spike of despair. He’s digging in, and they’ve only just found him.

“This is about Overwatch, ain’t it? Look, I got the big guy’s message. Don’t think it’s my kinda gig.”

“Jesse—”Fareeha starts.

“Are you still here?” the woman shouts, this time sounding genuinely annoyed. Jesse glares in her direction.

“I think you’re being kicked out, McCree,” Genji says.

“I’m catchin’ up!” Jesse shouts back.

“Do it somewhere else!”

Jesse huffs then pulls a spectacularly beat up duffle from the floor onto the couch.

“Can’t just leave town,” he mutters as he starts a slow loop around the room, gathering clothes, tac gear, and little bags of junk food. Fareeha wonders if the junk food is his, or if he’s being petty. It doesn’t take much deliberation to decide she doesn’t care.

“Oh, really?” Fareeha asks. It seems to her like he should _definitely_ be leaving town.

“No, I mean,” Jesse’s shoulders inch together, and Fareeha thinks he looks _embarrassed_. That’s a new one. “I left my hat at Yuuto’s.”

Knowing him, that was probably less an accident and more a deliberate ploy to be invited back. Fareeha pinches the bridge of her nose again.

“Well, lucky for you, we have a car and room for three. Four even, if Yuuto enjoys the Mediterranean.”

Fareeha gives Genji a dirty look but doesn’t miss the weirdly hopeful sparkle in Jesse’s eye.

Oh no.

He’s caught _feelings_.

Just fucking perfect.

* * *

“Genj’, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were about to tell me about some excitin’ business opportunity outgoin’ folk can run out of their homes.”

Genji makes a dismissive noise.

“It’s a noble endeavor.”

Fareeha pulls a face. She knows Genji’s history. No matter how sincere he might actually be, hearing him call anything a _noble endeavor_ makes it sound like the exact opposite. Jesse must think the same, because he just grunts from the backseat.

“How did you end up crashing with that woman, anyway? ‘Liv’ you said?” Fareeha asks, before Genji can dig them further into a hole.

“Don’t ask.”

“Why? She seemed so nice,” Genji says mildly.

“It’s a real fuckin’ long story. ‘Sides, there’s the place.”

Fareeha takes manual control of the car to guide it into the parking lot. Jesse directs her toward the far side of the building where ‘Yuuto’ is staying. She has no idea how the next few minutes are going to go—and given Jesse’s tastes, catastrophically bad is definitely on the table—so she makes sure to park so that it will be easy to leave in a hurry.

The building is criminally dull. It looks like some sort of extended stay hotel, full of sterile efficiency apartments. It _could_ have been a place that rents by the hour though, so Fareeha’s counting that as a win.

Jesse produces a keycard and lets them in through a side door. Fareeha tries not to think about that too hard. 

She fails.

Jesse has this guy’s second key. Maybe he filched it, but Fareeha knows in her gut that this guy gave it to him. He wanted Jesse to keep coming back to a soulless extended stay apartment that this guy is living in _why, exactly, again_ ? It’s not nice enough to be a place someone would want to stay, and almost definitely too expensive to choose over a normal apartment to actually live in long term. This is for suits in town on business, with expense accounts and picky accountants. What is this guy’s _deal_?

Jesse leads them up the stairs, taking them like a man walking the gallows. Fareeha looks back at Genji, who’s staring at Jesse like he’s got algebra carved into the back of his head. Well, at least she’s not the only one who thinks he’s acting weird.

Fuck _damn_ why couldn’t Jesse have been in the middle of a shootout or something when she found him? She’d know what to do then. 

Jesse’s _guy_ is on the fourth floor. Fareeha watches in helpless fascination as Jesse fidgets with his clothes and tries to finger comb his hair. He’s nervous. She can’t remember the last time she saw him nervous.

The door he stops in front of is just like all the others, nondescript and slightly worn. Jesse huffs, cracks his neck, and straightens before knocking on the door. Fareeha stays a little back, like there could possibly be a minimum safe distance. Genji is at her elbow, peeking around.

Jesse knocks. She holds her breath.

She is absolutely _not_ expecting Yuuto to answer the door in a skimpy bathrobe—open low enough that his treasure trail is on display!—and Jesse’s hat perched on his head at an absurd angle.

“Back again, cowboy?” he asks, voice pitched low.

Just behind her sounds a squeak, high and pained.

“ _Well_ ,” Jesse starts, but Yuuto has noticed Fareeha and Genji. He jerks the bathrobe closed and doffs the hat, but Genji’s squeaking reaches a crescendo and he fairly wails—

“ _Hanzo!”_

Yuuto—or maybe Hanzo?—had started going puce and angry, but now he’s sheet white. Jesse looks poleaxed. Fareeha steps out from between him-of-unclear-name and Genji, as a precaution.

“What—“

“You’re—”

“ _Brother, clothes,_ please!”

Oh boy.

This is an entire shit mess.

Goddamnit, Jesse.

* * *

This is the worst car ride of Fareeha’s life. Full stop.

No one has said anything since Genji and Hanzo stopped shouting at each other in clipped Japanese. From the faintly panicked expression on Jesse’s face, he has followed some of their conversation, but nobody bothered to fill her in.

Maybe that’s for the best though. It definitely wasn’t good. Or even the entertaining kind of bad.

Whatever was said, it resulted in Hanzo packing up a surprising amount of gear, following them out of the building, and stuffing it into the trunk of the car.

He’s sharing the back seat with Jesse, and they’re currently doing a piss poor but enthusiastic job of pretending the other doesn’t exist. Genji is, well, not sulking exactly but certainly something. Stewing? You’d think he’d walked in on them, honestly.

Fareeha kept manual control of the car, just to have something to do with her hands. At least Jesse is coming back with them without a fuss. Frankly, they could probably have shoved him onto a slow boat to Antarctica right now, but she’s going to take her wins where she can get them.

No, the weird part is that Hanzo is coming. Fareeha’s not privy to much, but she knows there’s bad blood there. Real bad. She-would-have-been-accesory-to-an-entire-murder-eight-years-ago bad. And yet, here he is, so this must be Genji’s idea, because during that whole argument Jesse had said nothing and Hanzo had clearly not been the one making demands.

Winston got them seats on some kind of cargo plane—old Overwatch buddy, she didn’t ask. It’ll be legal-ish, knowing him. It’s not like she wants to wait around for properly illegal fake papers to come through and give whatever is happening with the boys has time to boil over.

Genji struts onto the plane, barely sparing an instant for pleasantries with the pilot. Hanzo trudges behind him, weighed down by several dozen kilos worth of murder accoutrement.

Jesse still seems off balance by many, many turns his day has taken. Maybe even a little morose. God, she _has_ to ask.

“What’s that face about?” Fareeha asks, slapping him on the shoulder.

“He’s the best goddamn lay of my life, ‘Ree.”

“Ew, Jess.”

“Best. Ever. And he’s Genji’s fuckface brother. Fuckin’ cryin’ shame.”

“I mean, and I hate that I’m saying this, but is it?”

“What?”

“A shame. He’s apparently coming with us.”

“But—“

“And Genji’s making him, it appears.”

Jesse’s lips thin. Gears are turning in that head. The pilot shouts at them to shit or get off the pot.

Fareeha sighs and hauls him up the ramp by the arm. Goddamn he can be a pain in her ass.

Good thing he’s around again so she can get him back.


End file.
